


One More Smoke With You

by stonecoldsilly



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Happy Ending, Hints of OT3, Hints of Yenskier, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonecoldsilly/pseuds/stonecoldsilly
Summary: She steps out of the portal, hopefully somewhere close to where the innkeeper had said Geralt had headed, and is met with a rather warmer welcome than she is used to.‘Oh, thank the gods, Yennefer, you’re here.’Bemusedly, she stares at the bard, who is now shoving straight past Geralt in his haste to greet her, and bobs a fussy little bow, fringe flopping all over the place and smiling winningly in her direction.
Relationships: Geralt & Jaskier & Yennefer, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111





	One More Smoke With You

...

She steps out of the portal, hopefully somewhere close to where the innkeeper had said Geralt had headed, and is met with a rather warmer welcome than she is used to. 

‘Oh, thank the gods, Yennefer, you’re here.’

Bemusedly, she stares at the bard, who is now shoving straight past Geralt in his haste to greet her, and bobs a fussy little bow, fringe flopping all over the place and smiling winningly in her direction.

Geralt looks confused as well, and she turns to raise an eyebrow at him.

‘I don’t suppose I could bother you for some tobacco? It’s just that this brute,’ and he elbows Geralt in the side haughtily, ‘hasn’t let me set foot in town for weeks now and my reserves are running hellishly low.’

A surge of fellow-feeling rises in her, quite unbidden. That eternal creed of the smoker; to never let a fellow enthusiast suffer; stirs enough sympathy for her to relent under those pleading blue eyes.

‘How did you know I smoke?’ She says suspiciously, and then Jaskier flops his hand in Geralt’s direction, who looks gratifyingly guilty.

She lets him simmer, just for a minute, because she has a reputation to uphold, and then nods, a little cautiously.

Jaskier lunges for her and hugs her so quickly she hardly has time to blink, releasing her in an instant and dancing round the clearing, mood clearly jubilant.

Geralt’s mouth falls open, and he frowns, which is marvellous, and instantly bears further experimentation.

‘Not here,’ he grumbles.

‘Yes darling,’ Jaskier says, flapping a hand in his direction, ‘You don’t like the smell, pish-tosh.’ 

Geralt just glares at them.

‘Come, my lady, you and I shall enjoy ourselves and let our Witcher fetch us some dinner, hmm?’

Jaskier sidles up to her, and extends the crook of his arm, which she deigns to take, and permits him to lead her a little further into the woods.

‘Blasted man,’ he says, ‘he knows how I get without a smoke, the bastard.’

‘You do seem rather more keen on my company than usual.’ She says, trying not to let her awkwardness show on her face.

It’s been a year since the djinn, and occasionally bumping into Geralt on her travels has also meant bumping into Jaskier, who has thus far treated her with polite friendliness, which seems to be his default. 

‘It’ll be nice to have some civilised conversation for once!’ He says, raising his voice loud enough so that Geralt, wherever he’s skulked off to, will hear.

They settle near the riverbank on a dry looking log that she automatically spits a cushioning charm onto, and he blinks up at her gratefully.

Jaskier claps his fussy hands together with glee when she produces her tobacco pouch, and the honest delight on his face is enough for her to lose her head entirely.

‘Keep it.’ She says brusquely, and he presses a swift kiss to her cheek and ducks his head shyly.

‘Yennefer, you are a marvel. Thank you so much, truly.’

‘I can get more.’ She says dismissively, and then gets distracted by watching him roll a neat cigarette, motions practiced so much to be automatic, a flash of his pink little tongue visible as he licks the paper.

He pats his pockets for a flint, and she rolls her eyes and clicks her fingers, a trifle showily, letting a little spark of flame dance over her rings and settle into place by her index finger.

She leans over to light it for him, and he holds still, catching her gaze for a long moment.

The first puff of smoke is accompanied by a deeply relieved sigh, and she can see all his limbs loosening with relaxation.

‘Honestly Yennefer, you are the finest sorceress of my acquaintance. I knew I could rely on you.’

‘Flatterer.’ She says drily, and then occupies herself rolling her own.

Jaskier drapes himself over the log, and watches her, eyes dancing fondly over her face, twirling his cigarette round and tapping the ash insouciantly.

It’s been a long few days, and she had portalled here to get the kind of stress-relief that only comes from a vigorous fuck with a man the size of a bear, but this is pleasant enough in its own way, and she has time to spare for it.

He waits patiently until she has lit her own, and then smiles wickedly.

‘Now, please fill me in on all the gossip. We’ve been chasing this goddamned bruxa for two months, I haven’t been anywhere near decent places in what feels like centuries, and I’m so out of the loop its bloody criminal.’

He leans closer, as though they are intimate friends, not just acquaintances who vaguely tolerate each other’s presence.

Yennefer takes a long drag of her cigarette, and allows herself to humour him.

‘You know the whole saga about the De Winters, over in Temeria?’

‘Last I heard she’d left him for the warmer climes of the Duchy over in Toussaint?’

‘Hah, you really are behind the times. It turns out the Duke everyone thought she was slavering over had a sister, and _she_ was the one behind the first poisoning.’

Jaskier’s gobsmacked expression is awfully amusing, and she settles in to regale him with the best news, enjoying his rapt attention as the light fades through the trees.

…

Another banquet, and though after all these years she wishes she could say they all blurred together, she was trained in the art of politics, and so she knows exactly where she is and who she’s with each time.

She excuses herself politely as she can be bothered to, and makes her way over to the balcony for a well-earned smoke.

As soon as the door creaks open she gets surprised by an armful of tipsy bard, Jaskier immediately kissing her cheeks in greeting and smiling up at her, so obviously pleased with her appearance that she quite forgets to be cross at his over-familiarity.

‘Yennefer darling, I thought it was you. How the devil are you?’

‘Terribly bored.’ She says, honesty wrung out by Jaskier’s fond expression.

‘Come, let me entertain you for a bit. You can tell me all about your latest exploits, and I shall make appropriately awestruck noises at the correct times. Then I can bitch about Geralt, and you can make appropriately sympathetic ones.’

A smile cracks its way through, and they huddle up on a bench together in the gardens, sharing her warming spell and swapping stories.

He leaves her side only for a moment, to fetch her more wine, and the affection she feels for the glimpse of his handsomely trimmed doublet weaving through the crowd is entirely unbidden.

He makes for a very good audience, and an even better story-teller, gesturing extravagantly and waving his hands all over the place, sending her into outright giggles at some of his tales.

They spend most of the night outside together, cackling and drinking increasingly large glasses of wine, the sweet spirals of smoke from their cigarettes rising to dance amongst the stars.

…

They meet at another banquet, and then a ball, and then they start arranging to meet and synchronising their schedules. 

Jaskier performs, and Yennefer shows her face and gets the gossip, or some interesting new commissions, or a further thread for her research, and then they find an isolated spot and catch up, skewering the passing nobles and judging their fashion sense together, or fuckability, or ranking them on how many rumours of mistreatment of their people they’ve each heard. 

Winter passes swiftly that year, a blur of laughter and blatant wine-thievery that Jaskier always insists on performing himself, even though he’s the least subtle man she’s ever met.

Spring arrives, and she finds herself rather irritated that Geralt’s unpredictable travels will make it harder for them to meet, but Jaskier just tells her to portal straight to him whenever she pleases, as long as she brings the wine, as he can’t promise its abundance on the road.

She sends him off with a little drab locket, quite the most ugly necklace she’s ever seen, and has to stifle her grin at his appalled expression when he sees it. 

‘I put a trace on it. I can travel straight to you, as long as you wear it.’

‘That’s quite the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, but damn and blast it, did it really have to be this hideous?’

She nods solemnly, and he falls over himself to apologise, before he realises she is trying valiantly not to laugh and ends up bellowing the chorus of ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ in revenge before she gives up and sends him flying into the nearest snowbank.

…

A month later, she gives in and portals to Kaedwen, and he nearly bowls her over with joy when she enters the clearing, picking her up dramatically and spinning her round as though it’s been years since they parted, not weeks.

‘Darling Yennefer, you’re finally here, praise the gods, I thought I’d die from missing you. My star amongst sorceresses, most wonderful of witches… _please_ tell me you have wine.’

He beams up at her, and she surprises herself by kissing his cheeks in greeting, and then winks at him.

‘I can do better than wine, little poet.’

She waggles her fingers, and then pulls out three bottles of Est Est for them to share that he crows over most gratifyingly, and then reveals the grand prize, a whole box of Toussaintois cigars. His eyes widen, and he starts stammering sonnets about raven beauty and violet eyes, at which point she has to give him a whack on the ear or he will be stuck like that all evening. 

He shakes himself out of it and marvels over the box, and then calls out to Geralt, who is watching them with the most hysterically confused face.

Jaskier notices her delight at puzzling Geralt, and promptly pulls her over to a nearby log and sits her on his knee, making hilariously protective growls when Geralt tries to approach.

‘No, she brought me presents. She’s mine now.’ Geralt stops in his tracks and puts his hands on his hips, glaring down at the poet grumpily.

‘Do you have any need of a bard, Yennefer dearest?’ Jaskier says coyly.

‘I’m sure one can be arranged.’ She says, trying and failing to hide her amusement.

‘Terribly sorry Geralt, but it appears I shall be leaving you for fairer pastures.’ Jaskier says, leaning around her to stick his tongue out at Geralt, who just sighs.

‘He’s very expensive,’ Geralt says drily. ‘And he snores.’

Jaskier’s outraged squawking is enough to tip her over into outright laughter, and she settles herself more comfortably in his lap to watch the show.

‘You can’t just go around telling people that Geralt! As sworn companions there is a goddamned code!’

Geralt grins at them. ‘There’s plenty of other things I could tell her. That time in Novigrad, for example?’

‘You’ll shut up right now, Geralt, if you know what’s good for you!’

‘Will I?’ Geralt says, stepping closer.

‘Yes, I have a heavily armed sorceress sitting on my knee, and she’s on my side!’ 

He grabs her hands and holds them out threateningly at Geralt, who just raises an eyebrow. 

‘Yennefer, roast him.’ He says imperiously, the little brat.

Yennefer tries to stop laughing long enough to cast a spell, and then Jaskier tickles her ribs, so the ball of fire she’d aimed over Geralt’s head ends up sending him ducking for cover, which just sets them to cackling even harder.

Geralt frowns up at them from where he’s sprawled out on the ground, but his expression swiftly slides into outright fondness.

‘It’s good to see you, Yen.’ He says, and Jaskier nods firmly in agreement. 

She looks at them both, the poet cuddling her closer, and the Witcher sitting crumpled on the forest floor and smiling at them both. 

‘It’s good to see you too.’ She manages.

And it is, it really is. 

…

**Author's Note:**

> they definitely share a smoke after that fucking mountain bullshit, that's for sure...  
> i'm supposed to be updating something else but this crawled into my head and now here we are <3  
> i have made the most unlikely friendships via smoking, i'm not advertising it kids, but thems the facts


End file.
